Sour Milk
We all feared her
the kind of fear that tastes
of curdled milk
A new friend-
Jenny
Six years old
One step beside me
chattering away
little sparrow
Together we churned
our childhood
as we played kissing games
We could not have known
it was that dark triangle of guilt
that drove the nun to part us
to watch us
as if we were
small pink bombs
Our bottoms
ecstatically lashed
while a crucifix rattled
a skeletal dance
After the tears
all innocence done and ditched
our two hearts
drained now
by a milk-less .itch
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